I Will Always Love You (13 page)

“How are you?” he finally asked. It was a dumb and obvious question and not at all what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell
her he was sorry, that he still loved her, that Chips had died and he was high and didn’t even know what to do about it. He
wanted to hold her and never let go.

Serena shrugged and smiled. Her navy blue eyes looked far away. “I’m okay. How are you?”

“I’m… okay,” he said, shifting from one Stan Smith sneaker to the other. Talk about the understatement of the year. He wasn’t,
not at all. He was a fucking mess. But right now, with Serena near him, he felt better than he had in a long time.

“Nathaniel fucking Archibald!”

Nate whirled around. Towering above him was a guy with a familiar shock of reddish-blond hair. It was Jeremy Scott Tompkinson,
one of his old St. Jude’s classmates. Jeremy had always been excessively skinny and only about five foot two, but he’d obviously
had a late-adolescent growth spurt in college. He was huge, massive! Jeremy was trailed by Charlie Dern and Anthony Avuldsen,
who were wearing matching Hamilton College visors perched on the sides of their heads to complement their matching beer guts.

Nate held out a hand and Jeremy, Charlie, and Anthony all slapped it in turn, their customary salute. Charlie’s eyes bugged
beneath his floppy bangs as he took in his old friend. “I thought you were in, like, the army.”

Close enough.

“Nah, I was in school,” Nate said. While he was excited to see his old St. Jude’s buddies, he didn’t really feel like playing
catch-up. How could he explain about sailing the world, about Chips, about what he was up to now? They probably had no clue
what Deep Springs was or what it was really about. But he knew Serena would get it. He suddenly wanted to be with Serena,
alone.

“Where have you guys been? Beer Pong State?” Serena easily teased the guys.

Nate cracked a grin, glad that Serena was acting so chill. She hadn’t grabbed his wrist, dragged him to a corner, and yelled
at him for being an asshole. That was nice.

Nate realized that everyone was looking at him curiously and snapped out of his reverie. “I know how to milk a cow,” he said
randomly.

Congratulations.

“Man, really?” Jeremy asked, his eyes wide. “So, like, you just squeeze?”

“Well, sort of.” Nate thought back to Juliet, his favorite cow in the barn. He’d sometimes find himself whispering to her,
telling her stories about the day or asking her questions. He’d always feel reassured when she’d moo back, as if she understood
what he meant. In a way, it was the same way he felt when he was with Serena. Not like Serena reminded him of a cow, but he
didn’t feel nervous or scared or judged when he was with her. It was nice.

“Really?” Serena asked, grinning as if it was the most amusing thing she’d heard all day. Nate felt a surge of pride to realize
he could still make her smile. Did that mean she forgave him?

Maybe he should ask his cow what she thinks.

“Yeah. Her name’s Juliet,” Nate said. He didn’t really want to talk about cows anymore, but if he wasn’t talking about that,
he didn’t know what he’d start babbling about. Cows seemed like a pretty safe choice. “She has really long eyelashes and likes
to be touched behind the ears.”

Don’t we all?

“Should I be worried?” Serena giggled. She couldn’t believe she’d been so nervous about talking to Nate.

“Dude, you either got really fucking weird or you have some fucking amazing weed I need to sample immediately.” Anthony wiggled
his eyebrows crazily.

“Nah,” Nate replied simply.

“I’m getting some brews.” Anthony turned on his heel, trailed by Charlie and Jeremy.

Nate shook his head dreamily, as if he hadn’t noticed they’d already left. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said to Serena.
A stray eyelash sat on her cheekbone. He gently brushed it away with his index finger before he realized he should have saved
it. When they were little, Serena had taught him to make a wish on an eyelash and then blow it away.

“Did you steal my wish?” Serena asked, tilting her face up toward him.

“I hope not,” Nate whispered huskily as he leaned down to kiss her.

Wish granted.

for auld lang syne

“Are you ready?” Blair fidgeted with the clasp on her Prada clutch while Pete sipped his cappuccino. It was already eleven o’clock. They
were at Da Silvano on West Fourth for a romantic New Year’s dinner before they headed to the party in the Bass suite. She
couldn’t wait to show off Pete to all her bitchy former Constance classmates—including Serena. Blair figured she’d be there
and planned to act cordial. After all, it must be hard to be a boyfriendless, confused, washed-up ex–movie star at the tender
age of nineteen.

How generous of her.

Blair wore a tight black and silver DVF dress, and Pete’s blond hair flopped adorably into his blue eyes. In his bright blue
Thomas Pink button-down, he made the perfect accessory.

She smiled in satisfaction, trying to stifle a yawn. She didn’t want to be tired, but it had been a long day. They’d spent
Christmas in LA with her family, and had just gotten to the city this afternoon. Pete had always wanted to celebrate New Year’s
in New York, and Blair was excited to show him where she grew up, especially after spending a week in her family’s tacky Pacific
Palisades McMansion. She couldn’t wait to reexperience all the cheesy romantic things New York had to offer with her boyfriend.
She wanted to go skating at Wollman Rink, take a horse-drawn carriage ride through Central Park while sipping mulled wine
out of a thermos, and have drinks at Top of the Rock. Even though Blair hated cheesiness, she didn’t mind it when she was with Pete.

Aw.

“Ready.” Pete put down his cup and signaled to the waiter for the check. “So, remind me who I’m going to meet tonight?” He
took his AmEx from his worn leather wallet and slipped it in the folder.

“Well, Chuck is hosting the party. He’s… complicated,” Blair began. Complicated was an understatement. Senior year, Chuck
had practically molested every member of the Constance Billard student body, then had become what could only be described
as gay, wearing socks with monkey appliqués on them. Now he went to Deep Springs, some queer-sounding all-guys college in
California. Deep Springs was a working farm where students cultivated alfalfa and read Proust. Which was all random, but sort
of fit Chuck’s try-anything-once personality. The most bizarre thing was that Nate was apparently there as well. When he’d
run out on her and Serena last winter, Blair had half expected him to come to Yale anyway. But when the first week of classes
came and went without him, and when she called his cell and found it was disconnected, she’d known he was gone for good. Which
was probably for the best.

A few weeks after the start of the semester, on a snowy Wednesday, she’d spotted Pete walking into the student center. She’d
spontaneously gone to the coffee bar, bought a medium coffee, skim milk, no sugar, walked up to the table where he was reading
The Love Poems of Pablo Neruda, and offered it to him. It was a gesture that surprised him—almost as much as she surprised herself. They’d ended up cutting
their afternoon classes, cuddling underneath his duvet, and ordering a greasy pizza from Yorkside. And ever since then, it
had been her and Pete. They’d lived in New Haven together over the summer—Blair had worked on the campaign for a Connecticut
senator while Pete did research for his history professor. At night, they’d wear as little clothing as possible to keep cool
in the un-air-conditioned house. She’d make brunch every weekend and they’d spend Sundays in bed reading the Times. Being with Pete made her feel like a grown-up. Pete was a real man, and Nate was just a sad little adolescent who had no
idea what he wanted.

Is that so?

“Well, it’s Chuck’s party, and then there’ll probably be Kati Farkas and Isabel Coates and Laura Salmon. Just these girls
from school,” Blair said hurriedly, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“What about Serena?” Pete cocked his head expectantly. Blair shrugged. Normally, she loved how Pete remembered every little thing she’d told him—like how the only Audrey Hepburn movie she didn’t like was Wait Until Dark and how she’d accidentally kissed her first Yale interviewer. But he didn’t know how complicated her best friendship with Serena was, and Blair wanted to keep it that way.

Wonder why?

“I don’t know.” Blair shrugged and scraped her chair away from the table. They’d barely spoken at all since last winter. Serena
had sent her tickets to the premiere of Coffee at the Palace, but of course Blair hadn’t gone.

She hovered over Pete as he signed his messy boy signature on the check. Briefly, she wondered if Nate could possibly be at
the party, then shook off the idea. Once, in high school, when she and Serena were smoking Merits on the steps of the Met,
they came up with the theory that you had an almost psychic connection to anyone you’d ever kissed. If you really concentrated,
you could almost sense where they were in geographic relation to you. And right now, Nate felt very far away.

Time to rethink that hypothesis.

Besides, why did it matter? She was happy. Sure, she didn’t go out all night and dance until dawn, but there was something to be said for the simple life: arguing with
Pete about what movies to put on their Netflix queue or whether to order Chinese or sushi on a Friday night. It all seemed
so… normal.

If you’re into that sort of thing.

They exited the restaurant and walked out to the curb. Pete tentatively held up his hand to hail a cab.

“Not like that, like this!” Blair stepped forcefully out onto the street and threw her hand in the air. “You have to be aggressive.
Rule number one of living in New York!” Blair smiled happily. She looked uptown and saw the Empire State Building, still decorated
in red, green, and white lights for Christmas. Around them, pedestrians were traveling in merry packs, wearing Happy New Year
headbands and blowing those totally annoying noisemakers, even though there was still an hour to go until the ball dropped.
“Happy New Year!” She squeezed Pete impulsively as a taxi roared to the curb.

The cab easily navigated the short distance from the tangled streets of the West Village to the wide streets of Tribeca and
dropped them off in front of the purple awning of the Tribeca Star hotel, where they had checked in earlier in the day.

Blair confidently led Pete to the elevator bank, where two girls were also waiting, looking miserable and cold in matching
backless dresses and five-inch heels. Blair smiled benevolently at the younger girls, feeling infinitely superior and happy
that she was so beyond the stage of dressing for shock value at parties. It had never been her thing—Serena had always been
the one to goad her into dressing scandalously, like the time they showed up at a Valentine’s party without underwear.

That’s one tradition not worth revisiting.

“After you, ladies,” Pete said as the elevator door slid open. Once they reached the ninth floor, Blair and Pete followed
the younger girls into the Bass suite. Blair’s eyes adjusted to the dim light. It looked just like all the dozens of other
parties she’d been to at the suite: The hot tub was overcrowded with half-dressed girls, couples were making out on the leather
couches, and the lonely, dateless girls were all clustered around the makeshift bar, desperately trying to make eye contact
with any guy who passed their way.

“So, who is everyone?” Pete asked affably, smiling at the room in general.

Blair frowned, trying to spot any familiar faces in the crowd.

“Let’s see…” she began, before trailing off in disbelief. Framed perfectly by the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked
downtown New York, she saw Serena—kissing someone. She could only see the guy’s back, and Serena’s blond hair obscured her
face. Her white halter top was blindingly bright against the sea of black outside the window and her long, tanned limbs were
clenched against the guy’s back. She looked like she was trying to devour him.

For a split second, Blair was transfixed. Then, as if stepping closer and closer to an Impressionist painting, Blair noticed
the messy golden hair, the easy posture, the Stan Smith canvas sneakers.

“Blair?”

She heard Pete say her name, but she didn’t respond. She couldn’t blink. Serena’s chin was tilted upward, and her eyes were
half closed. She looked totally blissful. Just then, the pair pulled apart and Blair saw Nate’s face. He was smiling happily
and staring at Serena like the party didn’t exist, like the lame Justin Timberlake song wasn’t playing on the sound dock,
like the L’École girls in the hot tub weren’t shrieking. It was like Nate and Serena were in their own little world.

Blair felt like she was going to throw up. How the fuck had this happened? Were they dating? And how could they just stand there, making out like that, oblivious to the entire world?

“We have to go.” She dug her fingernails tightly into Pete’s wrist.

“Ow!” Pete yanked his hand out of Blair’s grip. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” Blair announced. “I don’t feel well.” She would throw up if she stayed an extra minute. She needed to get out.
She pushed her way past a gaggle of high school girls standing in a tight circle, not even noticing when she knocked one of
the girl’s drinks out of her hand and onto the bodice of her ugly pink dress.

And that’s what she does to people who aren’t making out with her exes.

Blair and Pete wordlessly rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor. Blair ran down the carpeted hallway and into their suite,
where they’d gotten dressed only a couple of hours before. She stalked over to the minibar and pulled out a tiny bottle of
Absolut, unscrewed the cap, and drank it, not caring that she looked like an unstable alcoholic.

“What would you like to drink?” she asked, trying to stop her voice from shaking.

“Blair,” Pete said firmly.

“What? The party was lame anyway. I think we should just celebrate here. And I have stomach cramps,” she lied. “Anyway, do
you want vodka? Or Jack Daniel’s?”